On Nature's Stance
The fig tree remembers,
the countless flowers reaching beyond the iron fence,
its petals squeezing through for a touch of greater sun,
making them dance as the southern wind deems to prance.
The fig tree remembers,
the dog house at the end of the yard,
the countless faces the green yard welcomed,
fresh, crisp, clothes stretching across the line, beating to the softness of of a southern wind, rushing through the sky.
The fig tree wishes to forget,
the sound a civilian child made after hearing a charge in the distance,
the ghostly night its keepers struggled to run to shelter, all the while
thinking they will be back much quicker.
The fig tree wishes to forget,
the loudness of army planes flaring by in the sky,
the faces of agressors as they stormed the house,
leaving only traces of their footsteps, as a house that stood for decades
was just reduced to a sea of flames.
Twenty years later, this fig tree still lands,
surrounded by the soaring, overgrown grass,
feeling the absence of her owner’s caring hands.
The fig tree still struggles to forget the night it all changed,
when her owners were coerced to leave her,
the night when she became the only existent life there.
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